


Care and Feeding

by AphroditesTummyRolls



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Babies, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Gen, Healing, I'm handwaving Booker's exile, M/M, Post-Canon, Redeemed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Team as Family, it doesn't suit my purposes here, joe and nicky are so goddamned into each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesTummyRolls/pseuds/AphroditesTummyRolls
Summary: The gang are on an easy mission-- their first since the events with Merrick and the lab. Things go without a hitch, at first. But a little oversight results in them all having an unexpected guest, and a big weather issue gets them trapped in their little mountain safe house until Copley can dig them out.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 49
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping <3 if you like it, please shoot me a comment!

Nile couldn’t _ever_ remember liking the cold.

Even at home in Chicago. Sure, her memories of warm Christmas masses, bright lights on the tree, and gently falling snow outside the kitchen window made her throat dry with that familiar, wistful grief. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing pine trees or twinkle lights without thinking of her mom’s mac n cheese, or how early her brother would wake her up on Christmas morning.

But loving Christmas, and loving snow? Those were two completely different things. Midwest winters made the desert look like paradise. 8 months a year of shivering at the bus stop in slushy traffic, boots and coats in constant need of replacing, getting the residue of rock salt all over the damn place—that sucked. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst of it was the lines around her mom’s eyes when she looked at the heating bills in January, and seeing the stress behind her smile as she did her best to make the gray world seem a little brighter for her children.

At least here, dropped by Copley’s helicopter by some dinky little village in the French Alps, the peace and quiet of the deep, undisturbed snow and the backdrop of mountains and trees looked otherworldly. It wasn’t anything like Chicago. 

Focusing on the ways the world was _beautiful_ — even if it was different— made her heart ache less for Christmas mass and mac n cheese, but it didn’t make her like snow any more than she did.

Shivering in the drifts piled up along the winding roadside, she almost longed for the dry heat of her deployment in Afghanistan. At least the sand couldn’t soak through your pants and down your socks—every inch of her was damp, miserable, and just so _cold_.

“You ready, Nile?” Booker broke into her thoughts, nudging her with his shoulder, studying her with a keen eye. Even in the darkness of the forest at night, she couldn’t hide from her new family if she tried.

“I’m ready to get inside is what I am—let’s save these kids and get back to the safe house.” She gripped her gun tighter and ran through the plan again in her mind. There was a seat next to the fireplace that had Nile’s name all over it, and she was almost there.

But first, they had a bunch of kids to save.

The job was straightforward— intercept a truck full of trafficked children. Three armed guards in the cab, three in the back with the kids. Stop the traffickers. Get the kids to safety. 

Andy had been hesitant to take this job, after how Copley had baited them with child trafficking last time. Joe had even sent a sideways glance at Booker as they were briefed, but Nicky took his hand soothingly, and nothing ever came of it. 

It had been nearly a year since what happened in Merrick’s lab— they had talked it out. They were getting there. Joe's glances were just that now— glances. Not sharp words, desperately yelled out from the cracks in his heart. Nicky had finally started acknowledging Booker again after six straight months of the cold shoulder. 

Andy’s mortality had softened her. She didn’t want to hold a grudge, and she didn’t want to hurt her friend any more than he was already hurting. 

So, they had talked it out. Nile had trained until she felt like her legs might fall off; Nicky had brushed up on his field medicine, in case Andy needed it; Joe and Booker had learned to be almost friends again. 

They were ready to get back in the field when Copley sought them out in Rhodes, holding a tablet and a file full of little faces that had been stolen from their lives in Austria. The kids were en route to a port in Marseilles. No food, no water, possibly drugged— they didn’t have time to waste. 

The mountains were the best place to intercept them. It was remote enough to ensure zero casualties, with a town close enough to extract the kids, and a safe house on the other end of the pass. 

Nile couldn’t wait to take these bastards out. 

She knew what she was waiting for, and kept her eyes peeled for Andy’s signal. Any second now. 

_There._ There was a rumbling engine, coming up fast on the left, headlights flooding the icy road with white light. 

Off to the right, she heard the sound of Nicky and Joe starting their own engine, rolling their car out of the trees and into position in the road. Just like they’d planned. 

Once the fight started, things went fast. 

She heard Nicky and Joe loudly pretending to argue in French, looking every bit the confused tourist couple with a broken down car. They blocked the whole road, hood popped, saying something that made Booker snort with laughter. Nile couldn’t quite make out the words, but she didn’t have time to ask him what they’d said. The truck roared past their hiding spot in the trees, and Andy led the way. They slipped out into the dark road with the door of the storage container in their sights. 

The air filled with the sound of shouted French— Joe, the driver, Nicky, the armed cronies in the cab— and then Andy shot out the lock on the door in front of them.

She wrenched open the door, and the French shouting at the front of the truck devolved into fighting. All other sounds were drowned out by ringing gunfire, grunts and shouts of combat. 

But in the end, it only really took about five minutes. It was an easy job, getting them back into the swing of things. 

Besides, if they didn’t save these grubby little street kids— most of them homeless, poor, or orphaned— who was going to do it? They were targeted because no one would miss them. Nile would rather give these kids a second chance than be doing some big, fancy nuclear job. 

The local authorities were summoned by Copley on Andy’s orders, and while they waited for the sirens to wind their way up the mountain, the group took stock of their young charges. All of them looked up at them with tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes, trembling, torn between clinging to their saviors and cowering away from any hand that came near them. With a pang, Nile remembered the wary looks of the Afghani children on the day she died. They didn’t look much different than these little ones, and she wished she had pockets full of bubblegum.

Water bottles would have to do, though. Joe did a headcount, Andy and Booker looked for any injuries, and Nicky hauled out a flat of water bottles, using his dagger to slice open the plastic.

“It will help flush any drugs out of their systems.” He explained when he met her gaze “They must be dehydrated, anyway.” 

He handed Nile the bottles, and she made her way through the foul smelling cabin of terrified children, distributing water and trying her best with a reassuring smile.

* * *

Nile had no idea why the officers who came up the mountain pass didn’t ask any questions about the pile of bodies. They also didn’t ask questions about their odd weaponry, or the clear trap they had set for the truck. 

She assumed it was Copley. That man had near-magic at his disposal. 

The important thing was that the kids were safe, bundled into a van and headed back towards the town. The authorities were gone, taking their French chatter and averted gazes with them, leaving Nile and her little family to heave a sigh of relief.

Joe bitched about the cold as an excuse to burrow himself as close to Nicky as humanly possible. For his part, Nicky only opened his coat and let his lover wrap his arms around him, sharing his warmth with one of those tiny smiles that said he knew what Joe was up to. They’d been together so long, Nile would be surprised if he didn’t _always_ know what Joe was up to. 

They murmured quietly to each other in Arabic, and Joe chuckled at something Nicky said. “My Nicolò…” he grinned, pressing his lips to the other man’s stubbly jaw. 

They kept their backs to the truck. Nile didn’t blame them— Barely half an hour ago, Joe had cut the truck driver to ribbons with his scimitar. Nicky had skewered two men on his broadsword at once. 

With the carnage over and the children safe, they chose to turn to each other, rather than look back into that truck. 

Andy was the opposite. She was leaned against the cabin, surveying the grimy evidence of the children’s captivity with a curled snarl. The smell was too much for Nile, and she took one more walk around the outside of the truck. The mountain air was bracing, and her breath clouded in front of her face as she let out a long exhale and took in the evidence of the fight between their car and the truck. The headlights still lit up the puddles of dark blood, slicking the asphalt and gleaming as it started to freeze. 

Joe and Nicky had shredded their victims. She wasn’t sure when she’d learn to reconcile their brutality with Joe’s contagious love and Nicky’s quiet gentleness, but she supposed that one day she would. Andy had. Booker had. 

Booker had started to take care of the bodies, his eyes hooded with exhaustion. His shoulders were hunched, Nile could see it, even under his heavy coat and the gun strapped to his back. 

Since Merrick and the lab, Booker had been working himself to the bone— from the little ways to be helpful, to cleaning up the carnage of their fights. At first, Nile had thought it was some sort of penance. That would seem like a standard punishment for Andy and the boys— after all, Nile had had to talk them down from _exile._ What the Hell year was this? They weren’t medieval kings! 

It might still be a form of penance, but it wasn’t _just_ that. Nile could tell that now. It was a distraction. 

Booker was trying to distract himself from the grief and depression that had led to his betrayal in the first place. He was filling every second of his day with work, trying to keep his flask out of his hand and his mind from wandering to his family, or his failings. 

A swell of empathy squeezed her heart. The circumstances might be a little different, but she understood mourning your family, your life, your… _everything._ But distracting wasn’t the same as coping, and she knew Booker would crack under the strain if he didn’t stop working and start talking. Soon. 

She was about to go help him— to try and lighten her friend’s load— when she remembered the rumble of the engine still idling at her back. The truck was still running, and Nile took the last few steps to the driver’s side door, lifting herself inside. The keys were easy enough to turn off, sending the whole mountainside into darkness and silence. 

Well, not _quite_ silence. 

In the back of the cab, Nile could’ve sworn that she heard… _breathing._ Ice clawed its way up her veins to her heart, her hand inching slowly toward her handgun at her hip. 

How many times had her mom told her to _check the backseat before she got in the car?_ Nile rolled her eyes at the voice in her head, gritting her teeth as she finally grabbed her gun and spun around to face her would-be attacker. 

It was a good thing she didn’t shoot. 

“Umm…” she fumbled her weapon and her words, nothing coming out of her mouth beyond an aborted little noise that she couldn’t describe. 

On the one hand, she wasn’t in danger. On the other hand… they’d missed a kid. 

Fuck. 

It was a baby. Like, a _baby_ baby. Less than a year old. They had soft, rosy cheeks and a little rosebud of a mouth. Long blond lashes fluttered against their cheeks. They hadn’t been dressed for the weather, and they must’ve been frozen to their tiny little bones, but they didn’t stir. They only slept, breathing with little puffs of air, as if there wasn’t a damn thing wrong. 

She holstered her gun and gingerly lifted the softly breathing bundle out of their box in the back of the cab. Still, they didn’t so much as whimper in their sleep. If it weren’t for the clear evidence that they were breathing, Nile might’ve thought the worst. 

“Umm, guys?” She managed to find her voice, stepping down from the truck with tentative feet. “We’ve got a problem.” 

Booker was the closest, the first one to jog over, but he froze once he saw her wide eyes. His gaze flicked over her and settled on the telltale bundle in her arms. His jaw clenched and he froze in his path. 

Then, there was Andy. Then Joe and Nicky— all gathered around, frozen where they stood, and staring at Nile’s small, unmoving stowaway. 

“They were in the backseat of the cab. I think they’ve been drugged— I’ve never known a baby to sleep this well. Especially in the cold.” 

Joe made a little noise at the back of his throat, and Nicky seemed to jolt back to life. He made an aborted motion forward, but paused, unwinding his scarf from his neck before taking the few steps he needed to put his hand on the baby’s tiny back. 

“I can take them, Nile.” He assured her, and she held out the tiny person while her friend methodically wrapped the sleeping baby in his scarf. A makeshift swaddle. 

She let Nicky take the baby, and settle them into the crook of his arm. She felt cold where the baby had been, mountain air now hitting her again. She wanted to go back to the safe house as fast as the car would carry them, but didn’t dare break the hush that had fallen over the group. 

Andy didn’t have the same reservations. 

_“Fuck.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying this <3 I've loved Nile since day one, but I had no idea I was going to relate to her so hard in this story. 
> 
> Shoot me a comment if you like it!

It had been a damn long time since Nile’s last babysitting gig. Even then, those weren’t _real babies_ — not like this one. The neighborhood kids she watched were old enough to walk, talk, and tell her what they needed. All this little thing could do was sleep, cry, eat, and shit. 

_Oh shit,_ she thought with a grimace, _it is_ not _gonna be my job to change that diaper._

At least, for now, they didn’t have to worry about _that_. The baby stayed curled up against Nicky’s chest in the backseat, still sleeping. No crying, no smelly diapers— Just blond eyelashes and chubby cheeks poking out of that scarf. 

While he’d been a good swaddler, Nicky didn’t seem to know what to do now. Given, it was hard to do it _wrong_ , all he was doing was holding it. He’d have to palm their fuzzy melon head like a basketball, or dangle it out the window into the snowy night to fuck up holding a sleeping baby. 

Nonetheless, there was a taut cable of tension running through her friend. She could feel it where their shoulders pressed together in the cramped car. He held it with such dedicated tenderness, like he was trying _so hard_ to do it right, and it would’ve been completely adorable if the rest of the circumstances weren’t so wild— the snow outside had started to fall, and it was coming down heavily; they were saddled with a drugged baby all night; Nile didn’t know what she was doing, and by the looks of her little family, none of them knew either. That could be pretty well encapsulated by Nicky, wide eyed, cradling an angelic-looking infant while still spattered with blood and viscera from the fight. 

Everyone else seemed just as tightly wound as him. It filled the air and set everyone’s teeth on edge. Like it was a bomb, and not a totally innocuous human. 

Looking around the car, questions started swimming up in Nile’s brain. She took in the looks of varying distaste on all these immortal warriors and thought to herself, _You all are really_ that _lost and confused about this? After a collective, maybe, 10,000 years of life, you didn’t encounter a single baby?_

Normally, she’d just say it out loud. She wasn’t exactly known for holding anything back— she never had been— but, the tension was too high to pop it now. 

The weather went from bad to worse, fast. 

Joe tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he squinted out at the wall of white outside the windshield, periodically glancing at Nicky in the rearview mirror. The other man only rarely looked back, unable to tear his eyes away from their little charge. Sometimes, though, he’d glance up and meet Joe’s gaze, or flick his eyes over to Nile. She just smiled as reassuringly as she could. 

The tap of Joe’s thumbs was punctuated by Andy’s leg bouncing in the passenger's seat. Her jaw worked as the gears turned in her mind, fiddling with the pendant of her necklace. 

Finally, just when Nile was about to ask one of the million questions swirling around in her head, Andy broke the silence. Scrubbing a hand down her face and glancing back at them, she sighed. 

“We’ll take it down into town early tomorrow— or give it to Copley, or something.” 

“We should just drive back down the mountain and hand it over to the cops right now, Boss—" Booker shook his head. 

“In this weather? We’ll be lucky if we make it to the safe house before the roads are blocked, Book.” 

“If you wanna turn around, you can drive there yourself.” Joe piped up, leaning in close to the windshield to try and see more than a foot in front of his face. If he wasn’t immortal, he’d be growing gray hairs right in front of Nile’s face. 

Booker just sighed, falling back against the seat and staring out the window. His hands fidgeted with a quiet desperation for his flask. 

“No one is turning around, Hayati.” Nicky reassured, voice low, “Could you all whisper please? The child is sleeping.” 

Andy fixed Nicky with a look that bordered somewhere between genuinely sweet and deeply exasperated, “That baby is _drugged,_ it wouldn’t wake up if the engine exploded.” 

Nicky just frowned, “Well, I don’t want to find out— do you think I know what to do with a crying baby?” 

“I don’t think that thing’s waking up tonight—"

“Nicolo, if they do, we will figure out what to do.” Joe cut into Andy’s less than helpful statement, “Now, could we all shut up so I can focus on the road? Or maybe _find_ the road? I can’t see a goddamned thing.” 

They lapsed into silence again, the back tires slipping on the icy asphalt as they made it to the homestretch. 

The safe house was a shoebox of a place— Walden Pond on a mountainside. It was small, but it had sturdy, thick walls of mortar and stone, shuttered windows, and a heavy, sloping roof. The chimney was tall and wide, deep enough to look like a small extra room— even deeper than the porch overhang attached to the front door. The snow had rendered the path to that door almost completely invisible, and it domed on top of the roof like the world’s biggest marshmallow. 

They’d gotten there just in time— the storm was a constant swirl of white, giving the dark night that weird purple tinge that used to mean a snow day back home. Joe leaned himself against the driver’s side door as they all piled out, scratching his hand through his hair and taking a breath that said he knew just how close they had come to puppy-piling in the backseat on the side of the road, keeping Andy and the baby from freezing to death. 

Nicky shifted the kid to his side, freeing a hand to cup his lover’s cheek and wordlessly check in. Snowflakes caught on Joe’s curls and Nicky squinted against the heavy clumps that caught on his lashes. Too cold to watch their never-ending love story, she turned around and started walking. She didn’t even need to look back from her trek to the door to know they were intertwining their fingers, and Joe would let his “beloved” lead the way up to the short ledge of the porch. 

Maybe one day, Nile would roll her eyes with the same cynicism that Andy had, or maybe a little of Booker’s bitterness. But as of that snowy night, Nile still thought they were the sweetest thing. 

Maybe one day she’d inexplicably hate—or _fear—_ babies, too. 

Maybe one day she’d think a lot of things differently than she did now, and the thought made her throat tighten and her heart flutter. She didn’t want to be jaded, she didn’t want to be bitter, or drunk— 

“Nile?” Joe finally broke into her thoughts, and she blinked her way back into reality to see three sets of eyes looking her over. 

She was gripping the door jamb, her gaze probably holding that teary sheen, unseeing as she got lost in her thoughts. 

She’d been staring down at that sleeping baby. 

“Are you okay, kid?” Andy said, still holding the key to the open door of the safe house. 

“Yeah—" she nodded “Yeah, it’s just freezing out here.” 

Joe and Nicky disappeared through the threshold, taking the baby with them, and Nile watched them go, shaking off the last of her chills as she walked into the soft orange glow of the house. 

It was like something out of a book or something. Barely two rooms— the main living space was scattered with furniture that was probably older than Booker, dusty and cobwebbed. There was a kitchenette attached, only separated from the rest of the room by a skinny jut of counter space. The stove was the old timey, wood burning type— so, no electricity— but they at least had running water in the sink. 

Nicky set the baby gently on the dusty, cobwebbed sofa and started lighting the gas lamps that were ensconced on the plaster walls, while Joe brushed out the— probably _ancient—_ soot from the hearth and started a small fire. It all looked practiced, like once upon a time, these had been regular occurrences. The same way Nile would go to flip a light switch. 

Andy started digging through kitchen cupboards, pulling out cans of anything edible, and banged a bottle of what looked like whiskey down on the countertop. 

“You better take it easy on that— you’ve got a real liver now, and we’re all on baby duty tonight.” Nile finally broke the silence. Andy huffed, taking a long swallow. 

“Trust me, you don’t want me looking after a baby.” 

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You’re telling me that, in your multiple millennia of life, you have zero baby experience?” 

“I am a _warrior—_ I _fight._ And when I’m not fighting, I am actively avoiding babies.” Her wry smirk disappeared into her whiskey glass again, and Nile could only sigh. 

“I suppose you two are also useless, then?” She said, gesturing between Nicky and Joe.

Joe made a face and shrugged, “I had a life before the fighting started— nieces and nephews and such, but my memory of the specifics is hazy.” 

“I was a priest before I went to war, and a medic in many warzones since. My skills are limited to performing baptisms and tending wounds.” 

Damn. Her faraway memories of babysitting four-year olds was still miles ahead of these people. 

That was when Booker clomped in the door, shaking off snow from his shoulders and hair. His arms were laden with more firewood, and he fumbled with a wooden crate as he toed off his boots. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold wind and his eyes were their usual bloodshot blue, watering from the wind as he passed off the extra wood to Joe. 

He waved the crate— a dusty thing with an old liquor brand emblazoned on the side— at Nicky, “This was in the wood shed. For our guest. Leaving it to sleep on the sofa won’t do.” 

Nile found herself gasping before she could stop herself, fixing the Frenchman with a wide-eyed look. How could she forget?

“You had three sons.” She told him as he downed the entire contents of the glass Andy handed to him. She immediately refilled it. 

Booker cleared his throat, swallowing with a wince that had nothing to do with the burn of the whiskey. “Yes. I know.” 

“You have baby experience.” 

“My _experience_ tells me that, when a baby is sleeping, you let them sleep.” He replied drily, “That baby won’t need a damn thing from us, Nile. It’s drugged— it’ll sleep all night, Nicky will take a pulse every once in a while, to make sure it’s okay, and then we’ll take it down the mountain in the morning.” 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She replied, standing her ground on the matter. “It’s good to know that one of us at least _kind of_ knows what they’re doing.” 

Booker huffed a bitter little laugh at that, and made a face into his whiskey. Andy fully smiled, “Hear that, Book? You’re an authority now.” 

“That’s the mistake of the century— and we’ve been there for all of them.” Joe chuckled and clapped Booker on the shoulder. Nile would’ve shot him one of her glares, but the ribbing seemed good natured enough. 

Booker rolled his eyes, his lips flickering up in a shadow of a smile. Nicky was grinning too as he passed him, slipping behind the counter to inspect the dodgy-looking cans for anything he could make into real food. 

Nile looked over to the sofa with the kid sleeping on it, then back to the four immortals who had become her family in the past year. All of them were still streaked with blood, and Andy had a cut on her cheek that was going to need a few butterfly bandages— there was something _old_ about it all. She’d noticed it before. 

There were certain aspects of life for them that seemed to be timeless installations— a crackling fire, strong spirits, and being more than a little bloody seemed to be a state that Nile could’ve walked in on in 1920, 1820, 1720… even back when it was Andy, Quynh, Joe, and Nicky. Fire, food, and fighting. It reminded her of the marines, and it reminded her of ancient civilizations. 

They _were_ ancient, and accustomed to brutality. It was no wonder that they had huddled themselves closer to the kitchen, further from the sofa. 

She looked down at the bundle there, and she felt like she was back in the threshold of the cabin, her mind whirling around in circles. It sent a swell of panic through her, because she looked down at this thing and she felt _different_. Different than she used to when she saw babies at church, or at family functions, or around her rundown apartment complex.

Being immortal had changed her, sure, but she’d never felt like _this._ Looking down at that baby, she now saw something that was the opposite of her— fragile, unaware, brand new and fleeting. Nile felt like an alien. She didn’t feel _human_ , and she _hated_ it. 

No wonder Andy avoided them. No wonder the tension had run so high in the car— if this was how she felt now, after just one year of her new life, it must be so disorienting to be like any of them. To be so profoundly _old_ and confronted by the essence of newness. 

She swallowed hard, and suddenly thought that she’d love a sip of that whiskey. 

But she didn’t want to be like that. She wouldn’t be like Andy or Booker— 

Nile grabbed the old crate and a dusty pillow, and set to work trying to make some sort of bassinet that could pass as comfortable. She hadn’t exactly loved watching kids, and every mom on her block knew she was a better security guard than she was a babysitter, but damnit, Nile wasn’t about to let this unnaturally long life rob her of her ability to connect. 

When a hand came down onto her shoulder, she nearly took off that hand. 

“You’re awfully jumpy tonight.” Booker’s voice was gravelly and he smelled like booze, but his smile was genuine in its own sad way as he crouched beside her. “Why don’t you grab the first… well, it’s not exactly a shower, but you can clean up a little. Dinner will be done by the time you get out, probably.” 

“I was just gonna get the little one set up in—"

“I can…” he paused like he was choking on the words, eyes flickering over to the baby before he came back to her with a look in his eyes that said he wanted to back out, “I can finish that for you. Go on.” 

There was such a deep-seated melancholy about his face, the way he carried himself. She knew he never really stopped grieving, she knew he was depressed, but… the weight that dragged down his frame now was nearly palpable. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled, “I’m the authority.” 

It was a bad joke, but she still smiled at him before she stood and headed off to the bathroom. 

* * *

In the marines, Nile had _mastered_ the 30 second shower.

However, she’d never had to just casually wipe blood and grime off of herself, with nothing but a washcloth approximately the same age as Andy, and the world’s coldest tap water.

It was invigorating, at least, and it felt good to have a change of clothes.

Her dinner was kept warm in the pot on top of the rickety little oven, looking like something out of Davey Crocket. She couldn’t help but smile at it, knowing that Nicky had taken the time to set out the plate and the flatware on the counter next to the stove, napkin and all. He didn’t like when they didn’t eat all together when they were in close quarters like this. Even when they weren’t on missions— Nicky was of the belief that meals were meant to be shared, especially with family. He heated her food and stuff so she would know that, even if she was late for dinner, he’d remembered to set her a place.

As much as she rolled her eyes at them all sometimes, she loved these people more than she ever would have thought she could.

Between the warring tides of avoiding the baby at all costs, and being as close to the fire as possible, the latter had won out. The four of them were sat on the floor in a circle, criss cross applesauce, like kindergarten. Joe was leaned into Nicky’s side, rubbing his thumb in slow circles on the inside of his wrist. Andy was falling asleep right where she sat, though she’d never admit it. Maybe later, Nile would be able to convince her to lie down on the sofa and rest a bit. There were sleeping bags that she hadn’t seen when she came in now piled against the side of the hearth. Right next to Booker’s DIY bassinet.

Taking her plate full of food, she came over to sit in the space left for her between Joe and Booker, and immediately turned to take in the converted crate.

“Booker, this is really nice.” She said, absentmindedly chewing at a bite of food and studying the somehow more contented look on the sleeping face.

The Frenchman only shrugged, “Not bad for a crate.” He said into his—again—full glass, but he was smiling just the smallest bit.

She could just barely see the dusty old pillow shoved into the bottom. A hand towel—threadbare, but soft-looking—covered the pillow and created a barrier between the swaddled baby and the dirty pillowcase. A scarf that Nile recognized as Joe’s was wrapped around the outer edges of the wood, holding in more of the heat from the fire, but Nile had a sneaking suspicion that Booker had also chosen it for its soft green-blue color. Booker’s own beanie was folded behind the baby’s head, translucent blond peach fuzz fluffed out like a halo against the black wool. Nicky’s scarf, which had been used to swaddle, was now a blanket.

Whoever had finally laid the baby down had used great care. They were tucked in with practiced ease—as if some sense memory had taken over the action.

Nile glanced over at Booker, but he was preoccupied, listening to Joe saying something or other. Andy was the one who met her gaze, a knowing smile gently curving her lips.

Plates were cleared to the sink, and everyone else sluggishly made the rounds to the bathroom, emerging with fresh clothes and way less blood on their faces. The tension from earlier had given way to exhaustion, everyone’s eyelids starting to droop. Nicky’s nose buried itself in Joe’s curls for a long moment before he turned to rest his cheek against his head. Andy's back was slumped against the sofa, circles rimming her eyes. Nile was tired, too.

That was, of course, when the low rumble was heard in the distance. It must’ve been high up the mountain, more of a vibration in the floor than an audible sound.

Still, Andy heard it, blinking the film of sleep out of her keen eyes. She was listening.

The boys kept talking, oblivious until Andy shushed them, sharp with urgency.

“What’s going on, Boss?” Joe piped up after a silent moment spent just listening to the wind and the storm.

No rumbling.

“I heard it too, Andy.” Nile said, a pit of unease opening up in her gut.

“Heard what?” Booker turned to their leader, just in time to hear it. To _feel_ it.

The rumbling got louder and louder, a steadily climbing threat that they could feel in the floor, and then the _walls_ until it became a roar.

They were slammed into by a wall of snow, engulfing the roof and making the lamps shake. The fire flickered, and the shutters rattled and crunched against the glass of the windows.

Somehow, nothing broke.

They all just breathed for a moment after the rumbling shook past them and further down the mountain, their heavy breaths the only sound in the tiny stone cabin.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to drive down to town tomorrow.” Nicky broke into the void. 

“Was that an avalanche?” Nile finally found her voice, trembling like the vibration of the floor had made its way under her own skin.

“I have a feeling you’re right, Nicky.”

“No shit!”

Letting out an annoyed hiss between her teeth, Andy pushed herself to stand and made it to the heavy front door in three purposeful strides. She pulled it open as if she was going to personally fight the torrent of snow.

Only for there to be a packed wall of frigid white on the other side.

_“Fuck.”_


End file.
